Strangers in the Night
by Rebo
Summary: Spinoff after Season 7, just after Spike has the chip removed. Storyline continues from there. Buffy and Spike have reconciled a bit, but some new big bad shows up with a huge secret and could turn everything upside down. R&R if you like, enjoy.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Note: Oooooooook, first shot at a Buffy Fic, and if I suck, I apologize ahead of time. I figured I'd give it a crack, because I have a couple of cool ideas in mind. And if FF.net has screwed this up so its near-unreadable, I'm really sorry. Hope you like, please R&R. Catch everyone later.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any trademarked characters or ideas therein. The only thing I own is the ideas, characters, and actions added outside the produced and copy-writed storyline. Thanks.  
  
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Sometimes irony ran so thick it could be chewed. It was dark, even for Sunnydale. Alleys seemed to emanate their own darkness, and revel in it. Creatures of the night clung to shadows darker than pitch, eyeing the bravest of passers-by with only fleeting interest. Sheep weren't sport. It had seemed that lately all the hellspawn had been turned on each other. Every demon, demi, vampire, and whatever other baddie was around felt a tickle on their neck and an itch in their hands or claws. Tonight was no different. Fights broke out here and there; a few in the cemeteries, a few in the alleys, one even outside of the Bronze. It was another night of waiting. Waiting for something to happen.   
Only a few of the local filth knew something was different. Two streets down from the Bronze, well into the darkness of the early morning, one...figure walked. Swaggered. It was watched by dozens of eyes, greeted with dozens of snarls, but it made no reply. None, that is, until a pack of the local vampire veterans stepped out to block the way, not twenty yards from the street.   
"Little late for a walk, friend," The voice came from one of the gang, the largest, who stepped forward. These weren't rookies, that much was obvious. The shift in the leader was subtle, but enough to signal the other four. They all vamped in unison.   
"I walk when I like, friend. And I like now." The figure was male. He took a step into an errant shaft of moonlight creeping through the alley and revealed himself. The gang only had a split second to see his features. A clean-shaven head and face, reflective eyes of some dark color, and a smirk that looked perfectly at home on his face. One of the vampires in the back groaned as the stranger slipped into a vampire guise. One of them had seen a smirk like that before.   
"This is our territory, rookie, and I haven't seen you around before." The leader wasn't shaken. They'd seen dozens like this. This wanna-be tough guy in his black leather duster...Wait, a black leather duster?  
"Step aside, uni-brow." The duster-wearing vampman sounded strong, confident, and unbelievably dangerous. His hands slowly came out of his jacket pockets.  
"A little attitude from this one, eh boys?" The leader took two strides, and his confidence rolled over his lackeys. They laughed at what they expected to be a quick show.  
They stopped laughing when the stranger kicked the leader through the brick wall to their left.   
For a moment, nothing happened, then rage itself manifested in the alley. The four lackeys charged in, all fists and fangs, and the stranger-vamp dove happily into the fray. He tore, bit, stomped, punched, and kicked his way through them with almost casual ease. When the dust had settled, three of the original gang had broken necks, one wasn't even recognizable, and the leader was still decidedly unconscious.   
The stranger shook his head and slipped out of his vamped-up state, peering at them with his freakishly pale green eyes. He shrugged and fished into one of his pockets until he found his cigarettes and a lighter. After a moment of unnecessary flashiness with his Zippo, a cig had found its way comfortably into the corner of his lips, and he was walking again.   
--High above him, three stories to be exact, two figures stood in near-open-mouthed astonishment. The Slayer and the local Big Bad, Buffy and Spike, leaned over the railing, quiet as wraiths in the night.   
  
  
"That's a fella who could prove to be very dangerous." Spike found himself lighting up a cig as well, pointing with it towards the figure now rounding the corner. "Been a while since I've seen that kind of thing, love."  
  
  
Buffy nodded numbly. "Who was that? He's got to be new in town."  
"Scared, Slayer?" He grinned and took a drag from his cigarette.  
"No, Spike, I'm not scared." She really wasn't, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of letting him know that the stranger reminded him of her, strikingly.  
"Right, of course your not. Now, if we're done with the show, I need sleep, and the cemetery is a hike from here."  
"Go on, and be careful, Spike." Buffy glanced at him as he retreated.  
"No worries, Buff," He tapped his temple, indicating that there was no longer a chip in his head. "I'll be just fine. Wake me tomorrow if you need anything."  
She nodded and smiled, and he smirked back before slinging on his trenchcoat and stalking off into the darkness like an oversized cat. Buffy was glad they had cleared the air, if only somewhat. Neither of them really spoke about feelings, especially with an active demon uprising and everything heading to hell on a rocketsled. For the moment, they were content with just being able to watch each others' back.   
Buffy sat back and rubbed her eyes, then stared down at the carnage below. She shook her head. Not even the slayer potentials were ready to even see something like that. She was glad she had sent them off with Giles. Secretly, of course, and with much stealthish spell cover from Willow. They had protested, of course, but eventually gone. For some reason, Buffy didn't have that gut feeling she usually got when her internal super-senses told her "things are about to culminate". Now she was even gladder she did. She needed to get some answers, and she was sure Spike would already be asking around the next day. She shrugged inwardly. Not much she could do at the present. The new bald baddie was gone and patroling time was almost over. Tomorrow she would undoubtedly face many teens deserving detention.   
As Buffy headed back toward home by way of rooftop and eventually ground, she thought about her remaining Scoobies. Willow was doing really well, studying a lot and mastering all kinds of magic that Buffy couldn't even pronounce, but she was missing Kennedy. She sighed and moved on to Xander. Stoic, comical Xander. He was great, always there, always light hearted. Anya was his counter-balance. She always had something cynical to say, with only the most moderate of intentions. Then there was Andrew, their hostage of sorts. He had become very cooperative and sometimes even funny to be around, but Buffy always gave him the hard edge. He was a murderer. Dawn was still in the mix, too, but behaving slightly differently. She was fifteen, acting to be twenty, and unfortunately for Buffy, Dawn was good at it.   
Again the Slayer sighed, finally finding the porch steps to her home. Dawn was growing up really fast, and Buffy hated it. All she wanted was time with her friends and family, especially Dawn, and admittedly, Spike. Consequently, Dawn and Spike had hit it off pretty well, and stayed as close to "buddies" as they could. The only thought that worried Buffy as she ascended the stairs was that hints of Spike's old self were creeping back into the light, or dark. He was more brazen, more confident, and more dangerous. Buffy found all of those attractive, but disconcerting. It was hard, sometimes, always going on assumptions. She dropped herself unceremoniously to her bed and tried not to think before she slipped off to sleep. 


	2. Kindred Spirit

Author Note: Ok, not much response to the first chapter. Maybe I just suck, but I like writing, and I love the Buffy series. Hope you enjoy the upcoming twists and developement.  
  
Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one. Still dont own them.  
  
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Later...  
  
The Magic Box was empty at four in the morning, it always was. That is, except for one person. She wasn't getting ready to open up shop, though, not getting ready for the day, dusting off items, or counting the register. No, the only activity was in the training room, which had only recently been rebuilt after Willow's Wiccan tirade that had torn the place in half. The steady *thunk, thunk* of the punching bag was the only sound that broke the glass-fragile silence of the early morning hours before Sunnydale actually woke up. It was expected of Buffy to brush up on her skills here and there, spend some time doing some physical training, but this wasn't Buffy.  
  
It was Dawn.  
  
She had been sneaking into the Magic Box for the past three months, lifting the weights, working on the punching bags; and she loved it. She was in increadible shape, she was getting faster, stronger, and she was getting more mature all the time. She had eventually gotten tired of being ignored most of the time, and when she wasn't ignored, she was chastised. So she took herself out of the picture. The only people she ever talked to anymore among the Scoobies were Willow and Spike. Xander was cool sometimes, but he was too often brooding over what could happen, or Anya.  
  
Dawn laced into the bag a few more times, and for a finale, she whipped around and planted a kick that sent the thing swinging. That one she owed to Buffy. Dawn trudged over to her bag and retrieved a towel to mop her face. It was almost four fifteen and she needed to be back home by five. She set about unwrapping her taped hands and stuffing her things in the bag. She was glad Buffy didn't know about this, because the Slayer-girl would probably take a few minutes out of her life to forbid Dawn from doing any such thing. Buffy was missing a lot of things lately; Dawn growing up, hanging out with Spike, getting stronger, and even going on patrol a few times. Dawn had a grand total of five vamps staked under her belt, and she was damn proud of it.  
  
"If you only knew," she said quietly. She flipped off the lightswitch and headed out the back, into the alleys where she kept her key hidden.  
  
"Does the Slayer know you come here?" the voice nearly made Dawn leap out of her skin. She whirled to see who it was, and her racing pulse only calmed down a little.  
  
"Spike! Don't do that! You scared the hibijibis out of me!" Dawn slapped him on the arm. He'd been standing against the wall, smoking, right by the door.  
  
"Sorry pigeon," He tossed his cigarette aside and turned to lean his shoulder against the wall. "I'm guessing that's a no?"  
  
"No, she doesn't know," she paused, getting a bit frustrated, "how did you know?" She situated her bag strap across her chest and promptly gave him one of those accusing looks.  
  
"Its my job to know things, bit," He grinned that Spike grin. "Don't look at me like that, I haven't told anyone. I hang around here so no one sees you. Though I've heard a few whispers lately about a pissed off girl with a piece of wood lately." Spike cocked a brow at her.  
  
"Big deal, I've patrolled a few times," Both Spike's eyebrows went up this time.  
  
"And I'm sure she doesn't know about that either." Spike glanced skyward.  
  
"Right again, your on a roll. Shouldn't you be getting to the cemetery before you get all a-flam-be?" Dawn was smiling now. For some reason, she never doubted that her secrets were safe with Spike.  
  
"Cute, love, really cute." He did need to be going, though. "Be careful headed home." He didn't want to tell her about what he'd seen hours before. Dawn nodded and sauntered off, and Spike watched her until she turned the corner.  
  
He counted to ten after she had gone, and turned, "Come on out, whatever you are." Spike sniffed.  
  
Just down the alley, from behind a convienently large stack of barrels and crates, stepped the stranger. Still in his coat, like Spike, also looking down to where Dawn had previously retreated.  
  
"Who are you?" Spike's voice wasn't friendly, and the corners of his eyes twitched, a telltale sign that he was preparing himself to fight.  
  
"Better question; what am I?" The stranger's voice also held an English accent, and as he stepped closer, his features came into view. He was bald, and his oddly green eyes seemed to smirk just as much as his mouth did. He was built like Spike, a bit rangy. His cheekbones were high and his cheeks just hollow enough to resemble Spike. It was almost as if they were brothers.  
  
Spike would have time to be surprised later. "Eager to get naughty, tosser?" Spike took two steps out into the broad alleyway, enough room to maneuver.  
  
"Thought you'd never ask, mate." The stranger charged forward with insane speed, but Spike wasn't your average prey. They had both vamped after three steps, and the collision rattled the walls around them. The bald stranger had ducked at the last instant and speared Spike in the gut, sending them both flying. After a moment of staggering to their feet, Spike spoke first.  
  
"Was that really necessary?" He took a few meaningful strides towards the stranger.  
  
"You bet," The coat-wearing vamp leapt forward again, but wasn't so lucky this time. Spike slammed a fist into his face, and the ensuing brawl was a spectacle. Spike was rage and death on feet, and the new baldy was measured precision. They battled back and forth for precious minutes, and they both knew time was winding down, because the sky was starting to lighten. Eventually, the stranger slipped. His foot gave way in a puddle of brackish water, and Spike spun into him and drove an elbow into his nose. The vamp slid just long enough to stop, and then kipped to his feet again. Spike faltered, and payed for it. The stranger spun in a tight arc and kicked him in the face. For the briefest of instants, before he was launched into the wall, he thought the maneuver looked strangely like something Buffy would do. Spike was dazed, and in trouble. The stranger stood over him, breathing hard and wiping at his bloody face. At least Spike had done a number on him. Who was he, anyway?  
  
His opponent slipped out of his vampire state, and offered a hand. Spike glanced at him quizzically and took it, clambering to his feet.  
  
"You hit pretty damn hard," The stranger spit blood. "And a lot," he grinned.  
  
"Who are you?" Spike was confused, but still on guard, he reluctantly slipped out of his vamped state.  
  
"I'll explain later," The stranger looked at the sky, "I think we'd better find a hole-up."  
  
Spike nodded, for some reason, he had the feeling this guy just wanted a good fight, which Spike was all for occasionally.  
  
"My name is Hale," he raised an arm down the alley, indicating "after you", "shall we?"  
  
With that, Spike and Hale strode off down the alley, both keeping on their guard, but grinning despite themselves. They were kindred spirits, they knew, to what extent, they had no idea. 


End file.
